


little bit of spine

by sleepinnude



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, PWP, fucking in a graveyard, that's it that's the whole fic, with a side of feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:40:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24561733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepinnude/pseuds/sleepinnude
Summary: Benny presses their foreheads together further and seems to be steeling himself. There’s a line of humor in his voice when he speaks, but it’s undermined by his incredible distress. “Please recognize that it’s not my ideal Friday night, watching you leap into certain danger.”
Relationships: Benny Lafitte/Dean Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 72





	little bit of spine

**Author's Note:**

> maybe the title is from fall out boy's dance dance. maybe mind your business.

Benny is solid.

Not just physically although, _hell yes_.

No, Benny is the cool, smooth surface of still waters. Benny always has an easy smile ready and soft eyes. Even when things go wrong, where Sam and Dean are prone to bursts of hotheaded gruffness or Cas to stony distance, Benny is stable and calm. Dean can’t really think of a time where Benny lost his head and turned to anger. A deep part of him imagines that makes sense. Every day of Benny’s life is a test of extreme control. Blood and blood and thirst and blood. He’s learned, Dean guesses, to wrap up all of his impulses between layers and layers of intense control.

So when that control breaks, it’s a little disconcerting.

Dean doesn’t know what’s happening, at first. At first, he thinks it’s a ghoul they missed. His head clatters against the wall of the mausoleum and he’s bracing for another hit on the rebound but something comes up to cushion him.

And that’s when he realizes that it’s Benny up against him. Benny who has him pinned into the rough concrete, one hand behind his head and one pushing into his shoulder. Their hips are locked and behind the adrenaline and the ache of a hunt, Dean registers his own interest. But Benny isn’t kissing him or mouthing at his neck which is the usual routine of their post-hunt trysts (sue him -- it’s not like he’s the first guy to get off on the rush of the job). No, Benny has his forehead pressed to Dean and his eyes locked shut. He doesn’t need to breathe, but Dean can hear the hiss of it through clenched teeth.

“Dude,” Dean says dumbly, reaching up to rest a hand on Benny’s shoulder. He can’t place the expression: Is Benny hurt? Hungry? Distressed? “The fuck?”

“You are,” Benny starts, words tense and tangled over his tongue and teeth, “incredibly infuriating.”

Dean blows out a long breath, mostly relieved that Benny doesn’t seem to be injured. “Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.”

The hand behind his head, whips around so that both are fisted at his shoulders. Benny gives him a little shake and his clothes catch and grind against the wall. “There were five of them and you just ran in.”

Dean shrugs, grinning a little. He’ll never call himself brave because that’s not really the word for it, but he’s yet to find a room on fire that he didn’t just run headfirst into. “What else were we gonna do? Wait for ‘em to eat more and get even stronger?” He can feel the hands around his flannel tighten. 

Benny presses their foreheads together further and seems to be steeling himself. There’s a line of humor in his voice when he speaks, but it’s undermined by his incredible distress. “Please recognize that it’s not my ideal Friday night, watching you leap into certain danger.”

He’s ready with a reply, a cocky laugh and a denial of any real danger but he stops himself. He exhales low and long and puts his hands on either of Benny’s sides. “Yeah, okay,” he mutters. Pitching forward, he kisses Benny neat and firm. “Not gonna stop doing it, but I get it.”

“Wouldn’t expect you to,” Benny replies with the proper amount of exasperation. And then Dean is pressed into the side of the mausoleum again, but this time Benny has followed up with his tongue in his mouth and Dean hums his interest. The grip at Dean’s shoulders loosens a little and the hands start to find their way down, curling at the hem of his t-shirt before fumbling over his jeans. And Benny must still be a little on edge because he’s usually frustratingly deft at this point. Dean’ll barely be able to feel his fingers, while Benny’s got him all undone. But now, it’s like they’ve swapped over, and Benny is too overcome to get the buttons and zippers to cooperate. Dean revels in it a moment before helping out.

Dean gets both of their pants undone and gathers them in his hand. Benny’s already half-hard and so is he, muscle memory. He grips as tight as he dares because something about this feels urgent, something about this feels like Benny needs the even press of his hand on him. His hips move in instinctual circles. Before long, Dean has fumbled himself to hold on to just Benny’s cock while the vampire fucks up into his hand. Distantly, he’s aware that he’s dropping soft encouragements to Benny, little _It’s okay_ s and _I gotcha_ s and _There ya go, bud_ s and, again and again, _Benny, Benny_. 

Yeah, Benny isn’t usually the one to lose control, even in bed (or...in the library, or the kitchen, or a graveyard). Dean is a maelstrom of insecurity and neediness and he wends his way into Benny’s space as if he were the ghoul feeding off some force. Dean is usually the one whining and begging and shaking apart for it, held up by just Benny’s big hands and strong chest. He knows Benny wants him just as much, it’s just a different course of action from him. Benny’s all quiet declarations and easy looks and the warmth of a hand in Dean’s. So Dean is never left unsure of Benny’s desire or dedication.

But it’s still fucking hot to see the vampire absolutely coming apart for once.

His jaw is clenched, head turned into Dean’s temple and his hands are seizing against his hips. Dean keeps up his string of commentary as he strokes him, doing his best with spit and sweat (which isn’t all that great, he’ll be honest). There’s a hitching moan gathering at the back of Benny’s throat and it’s unlike anything Dean has heard from him before. He wants it on repeat.

Benny’s weight is also almost entirely collapsed onto him and Dean clues into what he might need, what might help. It takes only a second to manhandle Benny around and get his back up against the wall so that he’s locked between Dean and the structure, so that he can feel the solid, real press of Dean along every line. 

“Dean,” he whines. His eyes are open and Dean can see the blowout of his pupils. “Cher…” It’s all a mumble, lost as Benny cranes his head to try and lock their mouths together once more. Dean obliges, more than happy, and the kiss is a push and pull. Benny keeps twisting his head away, like he can’t decide whether he wants to look at Dean or kiss him more. 

Dean shushes him and then gives a savage twist of his wrist, speeds up his pace. Benny’s focus goes electric, to the touch over his cock and his head falls back. Dean takes the opportunity to mouth sloppily at his neck, tasting dirt and sweat and ghoul blood. It’s no surprise that Dean is a little fucked up but maybe it’s closer to a lot fucked up, because that taste urges him further.

He shifts to fit his legs around one of Benny’s driving his hips with purpose. Above him, Benny is gasping out his name and broken syllables that could be French or English, anyone’s guess. His voice is ragged as his breathing and Dean knows that he’s close. He bites at the strong pull of Benny’s throat and works his thumb over the head of Benny’s cock and the other man goes rigid between him and the wall. 

Dean can feel the heat of Benny’s release over his fingers and wrist, between their bodies. He shudders a little, fitting his face against Benny’s collar and wills himself to come down. A last few feeble thrusts of his hips and then he’s centered again.

“Cher,” Benny protests on an exhale but Dean just kisses him quiet.

“‘M good,” he promises, and, “Wanna get home and get you in bed.”

Benny waits a breath, two, and then chuckles roughly. As if still coming back to his body, he loosens the hands at Dean’s sides and lets go. He swears something low and dark and in French and Dean loves him so much he can’t see straight for a second.

With a smirk, Dean shoulders out of his flannel and uses it to wipe Benny down. The other man wrinkles his nose at the indignity of it. “Sorry,” he says as Dean is doing their pants back up. “Didn’t mean to lose my head on you like that.”

Dean fits him with a hard look and knocks their heads together. “Shuddup.” What he doesn’t say is _It’s okay_. What he doesn’t say is _You care about me and seeing that is probably good for me_. What he doesn’t say is _I’m so in love with you sometimes I think if you asked I would stop running into rooms on fire._

Benny grins back as if he hears it all anyway and understands which he probably does. He lifts a hand and cups it around Dean’s chin to hold his still while he kisses him. It’s filthy, the kiss, and has no right having as much teeth and heat coming from a man who came just minutes ago. “Let’s get you home, hm?” Benny says in a simmering whisper and _fuck_ , Dean is at once hard in his jeans again. “Believe there was some talk about getting me in your bed.”

Dean gives a playfully little growl and shakes Benny’s shoulders before picking his way through the graveyard. Behind him, the bastard actually laughs, but Dean can also hear his pace picking up. 

They move through the night just a little faster than normal and if they don’t make it quite to bed, if they don’t make it anywhere past the Impala, Dean squared against the side of her while Benny drops to his knees, well. It won’t be the last time Dean comes in a graveyard.

**Author's Note:**

> [rebloggable post!](https://sweatercas.tumblr.com/post/620105910321299456/dean-and-benny-fuck-in-a-graveyard-because-thats)


End file.
